Flash Sideways 5: Legends of Another Day
by Side Quest Publications
Summary: The final part of the Flash Sideways verse... until I come up with something more. Leonard Snart is trapped in Iron Heights in the midst of Vandal Savage's attack on the city. He must cope with discovering the destruction of the city, and his memory of a timeline that no longer exists. Takes place during Arrow S4E8 Legends of Yesterday.
1. Legends of Today

**In which we see what Leonard Snart is putting up with in the midst of Vandal Savage's attack on Central City... right before its destruction in timeline 1.0.**

 **We also get a hint of the consequences at putting a normal human being in a prison wing full of metahumans who are rather pissed about not having access to their powers.**

 **Scofield shout-out copyright the creators of Prison Break.  
Niven's Ring reference copyright to Larry Niven.**  
 **All others copyright DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

Leonard grabbed his tray without looking to see what the kitchen staff had slopped on it this time, and looked around for a place to sit.

Alone was no longer an option. If he was only dealing with punks out to make a name for themselves, newcomers too stupid to know that you didn't need to look for a fight because one would eventually find you, he wouldn't be worried. His refusal to rouse himself unless someone needed protecting, and his habit of being particularly vicious when he _did_ fight, was enough to convince that sort that he simply wasn't worth the effort.

The danger now was that most of the inmates in this wing hated him with a passion, and would enjoy catching him in a vulnerable moment.

Not that he'd done anything to earn their hatred—they had all been put here by the Flash, and should, logically, be willing to accept him based on that alone. No, the problem was that it was a damn high school clique all over again... and he, the only normal human being in Iron Heights' metahuman wing, was the outsider.

Naturally, that meant there were few he could count on to leave him alone. None to have his back in a brawl, not even if they owed him a favor. And unlike high school cliques, who he could count on here had a maddening tendency to change daily, sometimes even hourly.

"Move it, freak!" one of the inmates growled from behind him.

Oh, yes. Here, _Leonard_ was the freak.

He sighed and made his way towards one of the only open tables in the middle of the room. He picked his way carefully through the chow hall, dodging any tripping hazard that crossed his path—some there by accident, some... not—and tried to keep his distance from the corner near the community television.

He didn't need the TV badly enough to muscle his way near _that_ group. He kept his head down here, and that meant he didn't go looking for trouble. Another strike against him, as far as the other inmates were concerned, and many of the guards would report him for the tiniest thing, but there were a few willing to do their jobs. And all of the cells were equipped with TVs.

A foot shot out in front of him. Leonard sidestepped the obstacle and stopped just short of tripping over one of the inmates eating by the TV.

" _...land of Wuz_..." the narrator's voice was saying.

He paused. What the _hell_? He inched closer to get a look at the screen. "My god, someone actually found a copy of _The Wuzzles_?"

The man he'd nearly dumped his food on merely chuckled. "So complains the guy who recognized it right off the bat."

Leonard rolled his eyes. He had a little sister, of _course_ he recognized it.

The other man shook his head. "Apparently some channel in Central City started airing these oldies. I feel ya, though. Tried to get the warden to let us watch Prison Break, even offered to give him my Netflix password. He wouldn't go for it. Maybe he thought we'd get ideas."

"Not like getting ideas would do us any good now," Leonard pointed out. "Scofield set things in motion _long_ before he got himself arrested."

The man finally looked up so Leonard could see his face. "Yeah, well, probably for the best," Jeremy Tell, the metahuman gambler known as Double Down, said. "We give the warden ideas, he might try to force us to remove our fancy tattoos."

Leonard shrugged before continuing his search for the nearest open table. Dinnertime was almost over with, and while the food was terrible, it was still better than starving.

"Why don't you sit down?" Jeremy said. He waved away one of the other inmates. "You, scram! My friend needs to eat."

Leonard raised one eyebrow, but he sat down in the offered space. " _Friend_?" he asked skeptically before taking a careful bite.

Jeremy shrugged. "You're the only worth playing cards with around here," he replied.

The only one he hadn't figured out how to beat, he meant.

"I don't care how good your memory is, unless you start cheating—" which Jeremy was easily good enough to catch him at if he tried "—you can't keep beating me forever. I'm _going_ to figure out how to—"

A static hiss from the TV made them both jump.

"What the hell was that?" Jeremy muttered.

Leonard caught a brief glimpse of a snowy screen before several inmates crowded close and blocked his view. He grabbed his tray to find another spot to eat. Whatever had happened to the TV, he didn't need his instincts to know things would soon turn ugly.

" _Snart_!" one of the guards called before he had half-risen from his seat. "What the hell did you do to the TV?"

Leonard froze, and the tray slipped from numb fingers. He stared at the guard. "You think _I_ did this?" The few bites he'd managed soured in his stomach.

 _Easy. No need to panic. It's probably just a misunderstanding..._ The guards couldn't possibly think he was stupid enough to screw up the TV. Especially not in _this_ wing.

 _In through the nose... hold for a count of three..._

The guard shrugged. "Who else? You're the only one in there who doesn't need one of those fancy collars." He nodded towards the other inmates. "If I've got to call someone in to fix it, these boys won't be getting any TV for at least a week."

Several heads whipped around to glare at Leonard.

 _Oh, god..._

He backed away from what was starting to look suspiciously like a mob.

No use pointing out that it was just a children's cartoon. The TV was one of the few privileges these people got; you _did not_ mess with it.

 _Ever_.

Someone grabbed him from behind and flipped him around into the wall.

"I want my TV, Snart," Kyle Nimbus snarled into his face.

Leonard tried to shrink away, but the wall and Kyle's grip on his shirt denied him any escape.

Jeremy stood up. "Hey, easy," he said, his voice pitched loud enough to be heard over the grumbling. "I'm sure it was just an accident. Or maybe the channel's bad. Snart was sitting next to me this whole time. He couldn't—"

"I'm sorry, Tell," the guard said. "Did you just say they should go a _month_ without?"

Jeremy's eyes widened and he sank back to his seat.

"That's what I thought," the guard replied. "Snart?"

"I'll fix it!" Leonard gasped. He had no idea why the TV wasn't working, but he would be a dead man if he didn't figure it out soon.

"You're not touching it," the guard said. "You tell me what you did so I can fix it."

But he didn't _know_ what was wrong with it!

"Yes, s—sir," he said. "Do—do you know anything about..." he wracked his brain for the most obscure reference he could think of. Faraday Cage? No, too easy. He cleared his throat. "About Niven Rings?"

Jeremy's expression flickered to one of shock before he regained control of his poker face. Damn it, the man _knew_ that reference. If the guard recognized it as well...

But the guard only shook his head. "Never heard of them," he admitted. He glanced at another guard, but the other man also shook his head. "Fine. Nimbus, let him go so he can fix the TV." He waved the other guard over to watch the outer door, then stepped inside to wait by the inner door.

Kyle released his grip as ordered, but he didn't move.

Leonard edged his way past him to get to the door and waited while the guard put handcuffs on him. Finally he was allowed out of the cafeteria. Finally he was safe.

But only if he figured out how to fix the damn TV.

* * *

 **Next chapter... well, we find out what a screwed-up TV has to do with everything going on in canon.**

 **I have no idea how the metahuman wing works or how it suppresses the metas' powers.**  
 **But since I didn't want to say "solitary confinement for all" (which some lawyers out to make names for themselves would try to get thrown out as cruel and unusual punishment no matter how dangerous the metas are, and which would actually _be_ cruel for those metas who are no more "evil" than the non-meta inmates), I went with special collars that suppress their powers the way the pipeline cells were designed to do.**


	2. No Escape

**In which Leonard tries to fix the TV, and we finally see what it has to do with the events of the show.**

 **Niven's Ring reference copyright to Larry Niven.  
Amber (mentioned) copyright me. (And Gavin, technically, but he's basically a generic character with a name, so...)**  
 **All others copyright DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

Leonard braced himself against the wall, willing himself to remain conscious as he tried to get his breathing under control.

Something tapped his chin, and he cracked one eye open to see the guard waving a baton in his face.

The guard smirked. "What are you standing around for?" he said. "You want to keep them waiting?"

Leonard shook his head.

"Then I suggest you get moving."

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: LEGENDS—

"Poor sod looks like he's about to have a heart attack," someone muttered next to Jeremy. "Or having one."

Jeremy snorted. "You haven't been here very long if you expect the guards to care." He shook his head. "Some of them... maybe," he admitted. "Keeping the peace is supposed to be part of their job. But _that_ one has no compunctions about riling these guys up so he can throw one of us into the lion's den. And the others are too scared of him to do anything about it."

The other man snickered. "I remember hearing about a man who survived the lion's den," he replied. "Maybe _we_ ought to do something about it."

"Like _what_?" Jeremy whirled to face the other inmate. "What could we possibly—"

There was nobody there.

The other inmates continued to grumble, but they eventually settled down and made bets on whether Leonard was more likely to fix the TV or have a heart attack. The most popular bet, it seemed, was that he would die of fright on the spot.

Jeremy shook the fog out of his head, then turned to watch Leonard's plight. The conversation was long forgotten.

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: LEGENDS—

Leonard shivered as he watched a younger guard remove the back panel from the TV. He huddled as close to the work as he could manage, desperate for the slightest glimpse of anything that screamed _malfunction_. It didn't matter in the slightest that he hadn't done anything to the TV; these people believed he had, which meant any time spent looking for the problem was time wasted.

It would be so much easier if he could have dismantled the TV himself. Maybe then he could at least have pretended that whatever prank he was supposed to have pulled was some delicate work that needed far more care than the guard was giving it. Care that would give plenty of him time to look around.

But of course, that would require letting him use the tools. And a screwdriver would make a handy weapon in the hands of a murderer.

No such luck. Nothing looked wrong from his vantage point, and he just couldn't get close enough to see any better, not without making the younger guard nervous. And once the panel was off... well, the older guard expected him to know _exactly_ what to look for.

At least he didn't need tools to poke through the wiring, though the handcuffs made it awkward.

But he couldn't find anything wrong, and the longer he spent looking, the more afraid he became.

Was it really the TV that had broken? Maybe there was something wrong with the prison's cable system... No, the guards would have checked that already—he hoped.

Or maybe...

 _I'm sure it was just an accident. Or maybe the channel's bad._

No, it couldn't be _that_ simple.

"I need someone to change the channel, please?" Leonard said.

The older guard snorted. "You really do think we're a bunch of morons, don't you?"

 _Yes_.

"No wonder that lot has it out for you," the man continued. "You think we haven't tried that already?"

Leonard sighed. Of course they had. But it would do him no good to let on that he'd hoped otherwise. "This is a sensitive adjustment," he said, "and I won't be able to see if it's completed until the signal goes through a full cycle reset. The quickest way to do that is to change the channel." There. A _little_ better than Niven Rings. Subtle enough techno-babble, very few buzzwords so it won't be obvious that he's playing them for the fools they are, but without any obscure references that someone would have the dumb luck to recognize.

The younger guard nodded and fetched the remote. "Do you need a specific channel?" he asked.

Leonard shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Just start flipping through."

The static cut out for a second, then began hissing again the moment the TV registered that it was on a new channel.

"Again."

 _Shhhhh...shhhhhhh..._

"Again."

 _Shhhhh...shhhhhhh..._

Damn it. "Just keep going," Leonard said. He returned his attention to the wiring.

So it wasn't the channel. That was too bad; it would've been nice to have evidence that the older guard was deliberately using him as a scapegoat.

 _Apparently some channel in Central City started airing these oldies._

Wait... if this TV was set to pick up Central City channels, maybe the problem _wasn't_ the TV. Or even the cable. If the Flash or some new metahuman was running around doing gods-only-knew-what, their powers might be interfering with the signal being sent out. It wouldn't be the first time Leonard had seen it happen, and while he'd yet to figure out why the reception was always a bigger issue than the transmission, he wasn't surprised that Iron Heights hadn't updated their equipment to shield against that sort of interference.

Granted, the TV's ability to pick up those channels still depended on Iron Heights' system, which meant there'd be more to fix, but if Leonard could just boost the TV's reception a little...

He started shifting wires around.

 _Shhhh...shhhhh..._ " _tact with Cen_ "... _shhhhh_

"Hey, wait!" Jeremy called. "Go back a bit, you had something!"

"— _opter crew on the way_ ," the reporter was saying.

Leonard cocked his head. That sounded like... Bethany Snow? From Star City's Channel 52?

A few minutes passed. " _I've just received word that the helicopter crew has arrived,_ " Bethany said. " _Gavin, coming to you live from Central City. Gavin?_ "

" _Thank you, Bethany,_ " a man's voice replied after the usual delay for live feeds. " _It may be a little difficult to see over the camera at this time of night, but what you_ should _see behind me is Central City's industrial district. But if we can get the camera to zoom in..._ " Another moment. " _That part of town is now nothing but a pile of rubble._ "

" _Oh, god,_ " Bethany said. Professional as always, her voice shook only slightly. " _Everyone evacuated before that happened, I hope._ "

Leonard released the wires and shifted around to see the screen, but the odd color on Gavin's side made it hard to see what the man was talking about. Night-vision, probably, but Leonard didn't think he'd ever seen a camera use that peculiar shade of blue-green... He _knew_ he'd never seen one that became bluer as the camera continued to roll.

Leonard's eyes went wide when he realized _exactly_ what he was looking at. _It wasn't the camera_. The green would be the camera's night-vision, but the blue light was coming from the industrial sector, and it continued to lay waste to the city as it moved.

And the crew didn't even see it.

Gavin nodded. " _Our thoughts and prayers go to anyone in that area. This is not a pleasant way for their loved ones to find out, but our hope is that they did evacuate, as you said... or that we can help find that closure for their loved ones if they did not._ "

" _So what happened?_ " Bethany asked. " _Was it another metahuman attack?_ "

" _We're going in closer to try to determine that. We—_ "

" _The red streak!_ " the cameraman shouted excitedly. " _The Flash is down there!_ "

Gavin had the grace to not look annoyed at the cameraman's unprofessional interruption. " _I'm afraid that may answer that question, Bethany. The Flash appears to be leaving the destroyed area at top speed. However, it—_ " He suddenly looked scared, and he whirled around to stare at the too-blue city behind him. " _—oh god it's coming this way! Pull up, PULL UP! Get us out of here! Pull—_ "

 _Sshhhhhh..._

" _Gavin. Gavin, are you still there? Gavin?_ " Bethany's voice dropped to a whisper. " _Gavin, for the love of god, please be there._ " She cleared her throat and addressed the audience. " _I'm sorry, I'm afraid we seem to be having... technical difficulties._ " The tears in her eyes betrayed the lie. " _Can we get a satellite image over the area?_ "

Tears blurred Leonard's vision. _Lisa..._ Gavin had only burned up for a second before the feed had cut out, his suffering short-lived, probably too quick for anyone else to have seen it. But with Leonard's eidetic memory that second would stay with him forever. And Lisa, Mick, Amber, Henry, Baez... they were all in Central City.

He blinked his vision clear in time to see the satellite map. Someone's hands covered his mouth, strangling his cry of dismay.

It took a moment to realize that the hands were his own.

It wasn't the TV. It had never been the TV. Central City was _gone_. And with it... everyone Leonard had ever cared about.

And the damage was spreading faster.

Leonard's eyes snapped towards a nearby window. No, that one faced the wrong way. He stood up and spun to race in the other direction. The guards made no move to stop him.

He reached the other window in time to see the too-blue sky getting brighter as the wave of damage approached.

"Bloody hell!" someone muttered.

A pair of hands yanked him down to the floor just before the wave of light hit the prison.

* * *

 **Next chapter, timeline 2.0.  
**


	3. Legends of Yesterday

**In which Leonard wakes up the day before and John Constantine officially makes his appearance to figure out what's wrong with the thief.**

 **OOC is Serious Business indeed. Len's having a panic attack due to the timeline he's currently remembering.  
**

 **And I... kinda sorta modified my personal headcanon. Instead of his eidetic memory being the reason Len can remember other timelines at all, here I made it the reason he remembers them so _vividly_... with the phenomenon in general being so common that it is one of the primary causes of the Mandela Effect (the other being sensitivity to other universes).**

 **Amber copyright me.**  
 **All others copyright DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

Every instinct screamed at Leonard to wake. He gasped... it was too hot, he was burning up, _he couldn't breathe!_

Someone spoke to him. The voice was somehow both shouting in his ear and yet a distant mumble, barely on the edge of his hearing. He couldn't understand a single word.

His strength fled, leaving him too drained to struggle. This was a good thing, for once in his life... though he still wanted to panic, that damn lassitude forced his body to settle, to slow his reactions to a manageable level until he could finally accept that he was safe in his cell.

 _Just a dream_.

One _hell_ of a nightmare, but still only a nightmare.

Except it wasn't a simple dream. That lassitude meant he was getting sick again, which meant suffering vivid hallucinations. He knew this with the same certainty that he knew that the only people he cared about were going to die in less than twenty-four hours.

And he couldn't protect any of them.

He made a feeble attempt to shove Jeremy out of his face to look into the hallway.

"Guard," he managed to croak. He gasped a few times, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Guard!"

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: LEGENDS—

John Constantine shook with reaction. He would _never_ get used to that... that time travel business! If he could come up with a spell to at least _warn_ him... He could have saved himself the effort of throwing that shield up if he'd known Barry was going to reset everything.

Well, at least _now_ he had a full day's warning. But he was too far from the battle, and too tired from the wasted shield, to use that time.

He cast a simple spell designed to pull in energy from his surroundings. A small drain only; the inmates, fast asleep all, would never notice what he stole from them. The guards would believe their own drowsiness was pure boredom.

Finally his shaking slowed. "Why did you ask me to look after _him_?" he growled. "I could've..."

 _Done absolutely nothing_ , Amber replied. _Welcome to my world_.

She was right, if he _must_ be honest with himself. Demons were one thing, but for a human with that potential for destruction... He shivered. Savage, like Darkh, was entirely too dangerous for the likes of him. Magic sensed magic; if John had shown up anywhere near that battle, he'd have been the first to die, long before he had a chance to help Oliver's team.

That was assuming they were lucky. If they were not, any protection he'd offered could backlash with his death, and even Barry's speed would have failed to save him.

But why, then, did Amber insist on sending him out here? Even to protect her precious "Leo." Like as not she'd had no more warning than John did, but she _should_ have been able to tell that he couldn't do a damn thing to help the man.

 _That was before the day reset_ , Amber insisted. _Though I don't doubt he'd appreciate that you kept him from burning up, once he understands what happened. But this time around you're the only one I trust who_ can _help him_.

What did she expect him to do now, skulk about in this prison and wait to relive the whole day all—

"Guard!" The scream came from Leonard's cell, followed by gasping and the unmistakable sound of retching. " _Guard!_ " Leonard screamed again.

That was new.

The other inmates began to complain about being woken up.

"For god's sake, would someone get down here and see what's wrong with him?" Jeremy shouted. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

John wrapped himself in shadows as one of the guards ran by. Amber's presence vanished from his mind as he concentrated on maintaining the illusion.

" _Gua_ —" More gasping, then silence.

"Damn it," the guard muttered. He turned to speak into the microphone attached to his lapel. "I need a medic in the metahuman wing, stat! Prisoner Leonard Snart in need of medical assistance. Repeat, Leonard Snart in need of emergency medical treatment."

Well, then. Maybe there _was_ something John could do. He modified the shadows into a more suitable disguise, and stepped forward.

"I repeat, I _need_ a med—How did you get here so quickly?" The guard narrowed his eyes when he noticed John.

John pulled in a little more energy, just enough of a drain to quiet down most of the inmates, and reinforced his illusion. "Got bored," he said, "thought I'd take a walk, heard the screaming." He shrugged. "Never trust a quiet shift, mate." He glanced into the cell and looked directly at Leonard's cell mate. "What happened to him?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jeremy replied. "I woke up when I heard him screaming. I thought maybe he was having a panic attack, but with how hot he feels..." He shrugged helplessly. His tone was bland, a trifle irritated, and his poker face was in full force... but the way he crouched in front of Leonard's cot betrayed all of that.

John reached into his bag and cast another quick spell, then withdrew a stolen vial of Haldol. "Fever or not, if he's having panic attacks, a small dose of Vitamin H ought to set him right," he said. He glanced at the splatter where Leonard had clearly lost the remains of his dinner. "Or settle him so we can get him proper treatment." He waved for the guard to let him into the cell.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at the sight of the vial, but he backed away from the cot before the guard could complain.

John crouched next to the cot and examined the thief with his expert eyes, both mundane and magical. Whatever was wrong with the man, it _wasn't_ part of the original timeline, so what had changed?

Of course; _John_ had changed things. If Leonard had been sick the first time around, even mild enough to escape notice, the draining spell could easily have exacerbated his symptoms.

John canceled the spell. "Easy," he murmured. He pulled a syringe from his bag and filled it with the Haldol. "You're just going to feel a bit of a pinch, then get yourself back to sleep, all right?"

Leonard made a noise in his throat that might have been a protest.

"So why'd you think it was a panic attack?" John asked. He pulled an alcohol swab from his bag and cleaned off a spot on Leonard's arm, then swiftly injected the medicine. "There you go," he murmured to the shaking thief. "Off to sleep now, and this nightmare will be over before you know it."

"No," Leonard mumbled, but his eyes lost their focus and slipped shut. "N—need..."

"He gets them sometimes," Jeremy replied. "And before he started calling for the guard, he was muttering about his..." He hesitated. "About someone named Lisa," he corrected himself.

"Need... to tell her," Leonard murmured.

"Easy, mate," John said. "You don't want her seeing you like this, do you? Let's worry about getting you feeling better."

"No..." Leonard gasped. His eyes snapped back open. "I have to... to t—tell Lisa. _Please_." He struggled to get out of John's grasp, but the earlier spell had clearly taken a lot out of him, and it would only be a matter of time before the medicine finished its work.

Two nurses arrived with a gurney.

"I'll tell the warden you're to talk to her when you've woken," John promised. He nodded to the nurses, and they positioned themselves to transfer Leonard to the gurney.

" _No_!" Leonard's struggles came on faster, stronger. More violent. He had too little strength to put up much of a fight, but he shouldn't have been able to move at all. The two nurses had to fight to strap him down to the gurney.

 _What the hell...?_

"What did you give him?" one of the nurses snapped.

"Haldol," John replied. Under ordinary circumstances the medicine took at least half an hour to work, but after the draining spell, Leonard should have been out cold within seconds of the injection. He _shouldn't_ be growing more agitated by the second.

But from the feel of it, the medicine hadn't even touched the thief. It could have been sugar water for all the effect it had on his brain. If anything, his panic added to his strength, but he'd soon burn himself out beyond repair if he didn't calm down.

"Take it easy," John told Leonard, muttering another spell under his breath to reinforce the order. "You're sick with fever. You'll do yourself no good getting worked up like this, and how do you suppose your Lisa will like hearing that?"

"You don't understand..." Leonard sobbed. "Central City is going to be vaporized, everyone's going to die, now I _need to talk to Lisa_!" His voice rose at least two octaves as the panic gripped him tighter.

John's mouth dropped open. There it was, the source of both Leonard's agitation and his sickness. And the answer was far worse than any spell.

The man was a Sensitive! He'd _retained_ the original timeline, remembered it as naturally as John or Amber might have done.

Or perhaps not quite as naturally. People with power like John's had a rough understanding of what they were dealing with and could process their changed memories with only a small amount of difficulty. _Most_ people didn't understand and couldn't process it at all.

But for most people, this phenomenon, one of the primary sources of the Mandela effect, was never a problem. For most people, the effect passed swiftly, barely noticed but for those vague memories that shouldn't exist. For most people, those changes in history had only a minor effect, not even worth that notice.

But witnessing the destruction of his city, with his sister in it, was no minor effect. Judging from his reaction, Leonard didn't have the slightest idea what had happened to him, and he was unable to process the changes he'd just experienced. And thanks to his eidetic memory, there was nothing _vague_ about the memory that so obviously terrified him.

If he could simply reject the other timeline, accept it as the nightmare it must seem to be, he would be fine, but his present state of panic would never allow that.

John sighed. Whatever reason the medicine had failed, draining the man any further would be too dangerous, and most other magic might be equally useless. But there was _one_ sure way to calm Leonard down.

" _Stop_!" he snapped. He was mildly pleased that Leonard did, at least, respond to this reinforced command. The prison staff froze as well. "If I let you call her," he said, holding out his phone, "I expect you to behave. You let us take care of you, am I clear?"

Leonard's face turned slightly green at the order—yet another answer that John would have to demand from Amber directly—but he nodded. He took the phone and dialed a number without hesitation.

Despite the lateness of the hour, someone picked up immediately. John figured the number must be one the Rogues reserved for emergencies.

"Listen..." Leonard said the instant the line clicked. "You need to get Amber and the others and leave the city."

As if the shape-shifter needed the Rogues' protection. John managed a poker face that would make a con-artist better than he jealous.

Then again, she _would_ be more likely to know which "others" Leonard was worried about if Lisa wasn't aware of all of them. Henry, for instance.

"Lisa, _please_! I don't know... it doesn't matter where, just get the hell away from Central City. Far away." Tears streamed down Leonard's face. "Get..." He choked on a sob. "Get out of the country if you can. But you need to be gone by morning!"

He took several quick breaths—John was tempted to hand him a paper sack—before he regained control of himself.

"Two days," Leonard whispered. "Just give me two days. If I haven't figured it out by then... Yeah. Okay. You, too."

He hung up and handed the phone back. But before John could pocket it, he felt Leonard gripping his sleeve.

"Now what?" John asked.

"Don't let them transfer me," Leonard pleaded.

John frowned. He couldn't possibly mean the wing, so why...? Never mind, it didn't matter. Amber would explain it or she wouldn't. "I won't," he promised.

He resolved to use every ounce of magic necessary to keep that promise.

* * *

 **Ugh... inconsistent chapter length. I thought for _sure_ this fic had some of the longer ones, but the first two put together are about equal to this one.  
Well, I have said my chapter length has way more to do with what's going on than with word count, and there aren't _that_ many good places I could've divided this one. But my OCD is still grumbling about the difference.  
**

 **Amber really ought to be answering Constantine's questions _now_ , but I guess using a spell to disguise himself is a little different than other types of spells in terms of the need to concentrate on what he's doing.  
It _certainly_ isn't because I'd written all that later stuff before I decided to have her butt in, and didn't feel like editing the later stuff to keep her input going... ;)**

 **Linked fics:  
Why Len turned a little green at something as simple as an order to behave, and why he's begging not to be transferred, to be covered once the prequel fic "What Could Have Been" gets to that point.  
Where he expects to be transferred _to_ will also be mentioned there, but is hinted at in: Legion of Doom (via the "rescue" in chapter one and the timeline reset in chapter four), the main fic Flash Sideways (via Lisa's vague description of how he was "treated" the first time his sickness was ever that bad), and the first sequel Enemy of My Enemy (via Cisco's discovery in chapter one and Eobard Thawne's threat in chapter three).  
The reason the medicine didn't affect him... to be covered if and when I get around to writing Majummed and its sequel fic League of MacGuffins.**


	4. Foreshadowing? What Foreshadowing?

**In which John Constantine works quickly to prevent any of the prison staff from getting the wrong idea about Leonard Snart's illness.**

 **Amber and random doctor copyright me.  
** **All others copyright DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

One of the nurses gave Leonard another dose of Haldol shortly after he arrived in the infirmary. It was, to John's senses, just as useless as the first dose.

John shrugged. At least there was no risk of an overdose that he could sense. And now that the thief had delivered his warning, he was no longer controlled by his panic; his sickness should put him out before anyone else realized that the medicine was completely ineffective.

"You were there," Leonard murmured. "Before everything went to hell."

"Ain't that the truth?" John replied. He hesitated. If the thief was lucid enough to dwell on the previous night, it would probably be a good idea to explain matters to him before another panic attack set in. But was he lucid enough to understand?

"Course, 'sall goon to hell anyway," Leonard added, his voice beginning to slur. "E'en before she left..." His words trailed off into an incoherent mumble, and he dropped into a fitful sleep.

Oh. _Not_ last night.

Under the circumstances, there was only one "she" John could think of that the thief meant, and Amber had originally disappeared...

At Langford, fifteen years ago. That's why the thief seemed familiar; a mage of John's skill could never forget the powerful magic he and Amber had thrown around back then.

Amber hadn't known why Leonard was so terrified of remaining at Institute; like as not she hadn't known back then that he was a Sensitive. And the Institute had, predictably, made even less progress with his recovery. She'd been forced to enlist outside help to understand what was wrong with the thief… but the Oculus they had cast for deeper sight had gone wrong, and the shape-shifter had inexplicably vanished before they could learn anything of use.

By the time John had recovered from the botched spell and returned to finish the job, Leonard was already gone. He'd never learned where the thief had been sent, but the entire mess had stunk of what he later identified as Damien Darkh's magic.

Small wonder, then, that Leonard feared being transferred under the present circumstances, even in the midst of his concern for his sister.

All the more reason to deal with things now, before anyone had any brilliant ideas about alternative forms of therapy.

John laid a hand on the thief's forehead, careful not to disturb the oxygen mask, and murmured a few incantations he'd borrowed from one of Amber's journals: a hastily revised version of the Oculus, and a cold spell she'd named "Majummed" after a vision from the Oculus.

Content that Leonard's own sickness rendered a sleeping spell unnecessary, and that the borrowed incantations would alert John or Amber if the thief's condition changed, the mage found an out-of-the-way corner and settled in for a nap. Leonard's plight wouldn't truly be over until he'd caught up to the changes Barry had wrought, and John would need every bit of strength he could gather to look after him.

It had been a long day, and it was bound to be a longer night.

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: LEGENDS—

"So how's our patient doing?" the doctor asked.

Leonard peered at the woman, but his mind was a jumble. He couldn't make out her name tag, nor concentrate long enough to decide if he even recognized her.

"C—cold," he stammered once he convinced his voice to work. He usually liked the cold, but even in the midst of his worst illnesses he couldn't remember feeling a bone-deep chill like this one. "V— _very_ cold," he added.

The doctor shivered when she approached his bed. "No wonder," she said, her breath misting as she spoke. She glanced over her shoulder at the figure nodding off nearby. "Hey, uh... sorry, I want to say John?"

The figure jerked upright to stare at her for a moment. "Yeah, that's right," he replied after a moment.

"Okay. John. Think you can find out what's wrong with the AC? Leonard's fever's gone down, but I don't need him freezing to death." She smiled down at Leonard. "Although you _like_ the cold, don't you?"

Leonard tried to shake his head. "Not... like th—this," he replied. But far sooner than he would've thought possible, the temperature had risen to a tolerable level.

"Better?" John asked.

Leonard jerked his head in an attempt at a nod, but it was only the physical chill that had vanished. He couldn't have warmed up _that_ quickly. Was he losing time now? What the hell was going on?

His mind was still so foggy...

"Still tired?" the doctor asked.

Leonard opened his eyes, barely aware that they'd even slipped shut again. The noise that came out of his mouth could _almost_ pass as a "yes."

"Hmm... the Haldol wouldn't still be affecting him, would it?" John asked in a low voice.

No. Leonard had never understood why some drugs didn't work on him, but he knew it wasn't to blame for any of his lassitude.

But that meant something else must be behind his symptoms; it had never been _this_ bad before!

"Two doses last night?" the doctor replied just as quietly. "I don't think so, no. Most of it should be out of his system by now. But I'm worried about that panic attack of his..."

"Must've had one hell of a nightmare," John said.

No. That wasn't quite true. He _had_ been this sick once. Fifteen years ago. Before the treatments that had made his childhood look like a pleasant daydream.

"You honestly think that was _just_ a nightmare?"

"Brought on by the fever. Maybe food poisoning. What else could it be?"

"I don't know," the doctor admitted. "But no matter how sick he is, I think someone as smart as him would never risk letting a _nightmare_ give that crowd a weapon against him... not unless something else was wrong with him. Something we're not equipped to handle."

Leonard's heart thumped painfully as he finally caught up with what the doctor was saying. She couldn't mean…

 _No!_

"That's a mite drastic, you think?" John replied. "With that lot out for his head, it ain't like a nightmare's going to make things worse. Far more likely some meta on the outside is screwing around with him." He shrugged. "One of his enemies, probably. Or maybe Bivolo, if the rogue can control more than anger."

Leonard might have laughed at that if he'd had the strength, though there was little to laugh about. Roy had suggested exactly that, reasoning that, with Shawna still at her classes, it might be easiest to bust him out during a medical transfer. It was a decent plan, something Leonard might have come up with under other circumstances, but Lisa and Mick had vetoed the suggestion for the very reason that now filled Leonard with dread.

"I suppose I should make sure the warden's looking into it," the doctor admitted. "God only knows how much longer he'd ignore it otherwise. And who knows? With all the metahumans turning up, that dream might actually mean something."

"Right," John agreed. "But for now let's see how the other inmates react to his recovery. Erm… he _is_ recovering?"

"A little too quickly for my liking," the doctor said, "strange as that may sound." She glanced around at the cramped room. "I'd really like to keep him here a while for observation, but it's only a matter of time before another patient will need that bed. And isolating him wouldn't do much good at this point if whatever this is turned out to be contagious. Leonard, do you feel up to returning to your cell?"

Leonard groaned. "I think so," he mumbled. He tried to sit up, lifted his head about two inches, then dropped back to the bed. He was so _tired_ ….

No. He needed to return to his cell. Too many of the other inmates had witnessed his outburst last night, and the ones who hadn't were bound to hear about it soon; it was far too late to fix that. But he had to make the doctor think it was nothing, make them think he didn't truly believe it was going to happen….

He couldn't let them transfer him!

He forced himself to sit up, but he still couldn't focus on the two people before him. "What time is it?" he murmured.

The doctor glanced at her wrist. "It's uh… A little late for breakfast, I'm afraid."

Leonard shook his head. "Just want to sleep."

"Okay," the doctor said. "I'll let the warden know that you're not to be disturbed. John? You okay getting him back to his cell?"

"Done. Think you can sit in a wheelchair, Leonard, or you going to need the gurney again?"

"Neither," Leonard said. "I'll walk."

The doctor scoffed.

"Sorry, mate," John replied before she could protest. "Standard procedure. You know that."

Leonard sighed. " _Wheelchair_."

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: LEGENDS—

John needn't have worried about the night.

Leonard had dropped into a deep sleep that carried him through the night. And while his body temperature had dropped alarmingly low, dialing back on the cooling spell had allowed him to return to normal before the doctor realized there was anything strange about the cold.

And Leonard, for all his stubborn refusal to accept help, had slept the whole way back to his cell, barely rousing even when John maneuvered him into bed. It looked as though he would sleep the day away if he was permitted. In truth, allowing him to sleep off the changes without interference would probably be the best thing for him…..

But not if it led to a psych evaluation. John couldn't allow the transfer that Leonard so feared, but the doctor had been a little too interested in his mental state for the mage's liking. The sooner he could consult with Amber, the better, but for the time being he was stuck conserving his magic for his disguise and Leonard's recovery.

John hesitated only long enough to give orders to the guard, then he made his way to the kitchen to search for anything that resembled food. He returned with the most nutritious—and theoretically digestible—fare that the kitchen had to offer; he would've turned his nose up at all of it under other circumstances, but now it was all he could do to persuade Leonard to eat.

Jeremy returned from the yard a few hours later and began feeding Leonard orange slices. The sight so amused the mage that he didn't bother asking which guard was missing the fruit.

No, John needn't have worried about the night.

But the day was far from over.

* * *

 **Urgh... Can you believe that last section took longer to write than the rest of the chapter? Possibly longer than all the previous chapters combined.**

 **Linked fics:  
Amber's disappearance covered in What Could Have Been and Time May Change Me, during a portion in which the two fics are alternate timelines of each other.  
Len's fear of being transferred under the circumstances similarly covered in those fics, and the reasons for this fear (and Darkh's interference) hinted at in multiple other fics: ****Legion of Doom (via the "rescue" in chapter one and the timeline reset in chapter four), the main fic Flash Sideways (via Lisa's vague description of how he was "treated" the first time his sickness was ever that bad), and the first sequel Enemy of My Enemy (via Cisco's discovery in chapter one and Eobard Thawne's threat in chapter three).  
Once again, the reason the medicine didn't affect him covered in Majummed and its sequel fic League of MacGuffins.**


End file.
